


may the blood freeze in my veins (let me rot within my grave)

by GoddessOfTheVoid



Series: short multifandom ficlets [10]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Balkan folklore, Folklore, Getting to Know Each Other, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, M/M, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Romance, Superstition, Witcher Contracts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29909571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfTheVoid/pseuds/GoddessOfTheVoid
Summary: When Geralt stopped in Letterhove he only intended to stay for a night at most. He did not expect to get hired for a contract nor to meet an alluring young man during his stay. And despite finding happiness in spending time with Jaskier it's the contract looming over his head that is causing him trouble as he tries to unravel the dirty secrets hidden in this place.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: short multifandom ficlets [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629358
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fiction Challenge #017





	may the blood freeze in my veins (let me rot within my grave)

**Author's Note:**

> due to the short deadline of flashfic this work isn't beta read. I'm not a native speaker so please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> this story is heavily inspired by various vampire myths from the balkan/south slavic area. for more information check the end notes (but beware it could spoil you for the story)
> 
> the title and the verse in the ending are a loose translations of hristo botev poems

When Geralt stopped in Letterhove he only intended to stay for a night at most. 

His visit to this place wasn’t planned, in fact, he was merely passing through. But the lure of lights in the distance had been enough for him to abandon his decision to sleep in the woods and seek shelter at an inn instead. With enough coins to spare he could afford dinner, a bed, and a bath, which sounded like heaven after many nights of sleeping outside.

The first thing he noticed once he rode into the village was Roach becoming nervous. It was so unlike her but she seemed to have sensed it before him.

There was something off about this place. Something he could not yet place but felt now, too.

_It is just a night_ , he told himself. There was no open contract for anything in this place, at least he did not find any in the nearby towns. No hushed whispers about roaming monsters or curses behind closed doors, either. And yet he felt like this village was hiding something.

Strange, indeed.

Leaving Roach at the stables he went into the inn, requesting a room for the night and a bath before sitting down to enjoy some food first. The stew was delicious, hot, and filling, nourishing him and providing him with additional strength. After weeks of dry meat and berries, it was a relief to fill his stomach with a hearty and warm meal.

For a while he leaned back, listening to the music and people in the tavern. It was bursting with life as the evening progressed and he found himself enjoying as he sipped his ale. Soon enough his mug was empty and he felt himself craving the warmth of the promised bath waiting in his room. With a low groan, he got up, stretching his aching muscles. Yes, a bath was exactly what he needed now, followed by a night of good sleep in a bed.

Making his way upstairs he informed the innkeeper that he would require the bath now before unlocking his room. While the bath was prepared he busied himself with cleaning his swords and filling his vials of potions so that he could leave prepared in the morning and it wasn’t long until he felt the steaming water in the bathtub. Removing his shirt he made his way to the tub, passing the innkeeper who handed him a glass of wine before she left. 

_Put it near the window,_ she had said, quietly. _For protection._ Protection from what? He was a Witcher, that was protection enough. Even though it confused him, he did not want to offend her so he thanked her as he took it. A local custom it seemed, superstition perhaps. Placing the glass in front of the window he gazed upon its reflection. For a second he contemplated just drinking the wine, but the woman had seemed earnest, so he decided to leave it and not pay it more attention. 

Instead, he soaked in the bath and cleaned himself thoroughly until the water turned cold and dark from the accumulated dirt. By the time he sank into the sheets, he was relaxed and content to fall asleep in comfort for once.

When he awoke in the morning, after a quiet night of restful sleep, he decided to stay in town a while longer and get breakfast too. This inn was surprisingly affordable and he knew very well that if he didn’t indulge in it now, it would be quite some time before he got another chance. 

He put on some clean clothes and packed his bags so he was ready to leave once he ate. Until his gaze fell to the glass of wine. Or rather the glass that contained no wine anymore. It was empty as if someone had been inside his room and drank all of it.

Impossible.

He would have noticed anyone trying to come into his room. Even while sleeping, he would have noticed it long before that someone even reached his door. There was something about this place that confused him, something he could not place.

But it didn’t matter. He would not stay another night, meaning this was not his problem to deal with.

Sitting at the same table as last night he enjoyed the breakfast instead. It was light and fresh, just the right thing, considering a day’s ride was in front of him.

Geralt could sense the man approaching him as he ate breakfast, a stench of nervousness wafting closer until the steps came to a stop.

“Master Witcher, you have been called to the manor.”

“What for?” He asked, still unsure if he was even interested in entertaining the Lord of this village or just leave as he had planned.

“That I do not know. I was merely tasked with informing you that you are expected to arrive within an hour,” the man said before quickly making his exit. He couldn’t make it more obvious that he wished not to stay in the company of a Witcher any longer than necessary.

Which served Geralt just well. He had not much desire for conversation and he hoped that it was merely a contract that awaited him and nothing else. Despite his wish to leave, he could use the money and this place seemed wealthy enough that he would likely not get scammed of his coin. Especially not if it was a noble that summoned him.

He decided it couldn’t hurt to at least listen to what they wanted of him before making his final choice. At worst he only wasted another hour before he left and since he had no other obligations it hardly mattered anyway.

So he made his way to the manor which was towering over the rest of the village. It was an impressive house. Large and imposing. A contrast to the normal houses the villagers inhabited.

The Viscount must be wealthy enough to afford the upkeep, he assumed. Or perhaps the plots were profitable as the overall state of the village seemed in a good place. Such a rare sight from the destruction he saw in the war-torn lands of the continent. It was so peaceful he was not sure he could believe this idyllic state.

As he knocked on the door the first thing he noticed was the combined stench of stale garlic and wine assaulting his senses. It did not fit the picture of the perfect manor in front of him as he would have expected the lord of it to insist his servants did not let any food go to waste.

Then again, the nobles were confusing sometimes. And god knows what those living in here have read or decided to apply to their house.

A young servant girl opened the door, inviting him in while barely looking at him. He didn’t blame her for feeling uneasy around him. Who knows what he’s been told of his profession so he made sure to follow her with a safe distance as not to frighten her anymore. As he passed the threshold it felt like he stepped into a freezing room, stifling and cold. This house made him feel uneasy as if something was lurking inside it and he didn’t like it one bit.

He followed her until they reached a sitting room where a middle-aged woman was waiting for him.

“Master Witcher, I’m glad you agreed to come and see me.”

“I was told I would meet the master of the house?” he was confused because the servant had not mentioned the master of the house was a woman, leaving him instead to assume he would meet the Viscount who was probably too busy to deal with him.

A slight smile graced her lips, causing uneasiness in him which he couldn’t place as she replied. “That is me. I am Viscountess Letterhove, mistress of the manor.”

“Very well, what do you want from me?”

“For the past weeks, the villagers have been complaining, of something entering their homes at night. Some have died, of seemingly natural causes, but I fear there are too many natural coincidences happening at once. Especially if said victims have neither been old nor sick, don’t you think?”

“It seems suspicious,” he agreed. “But it might just as well have natural causes.”

“I know, I’d still feel safer if you would investigate and deal with the problem if there is any. I have heard you stay at the inn, you can keep your room at my expense for as long as you need to conclude if there is any foul play involved.”

“I have not yet agreed to help you,” he reminded her, slightly annoyed by her dismissive act.

She just smiled. A somewhat cold and calculating smile.

“You wouldn’t refuse a lonely widow, wouldn’t you? I want to protect my people as much as myself. And I can’t do it if something is killing them.”

“Isn’t there anyone else to help you, Viscountess? Family perhaps?”

“I fear not.”

He couldn’t say why but he had a feeling she wasn’t sincere. Then again most nobles had skeletons in their closets and he usually did not care much about them unless they impacted his contract in some capacity.

“Not even children?”

“Not anymore. There used to be only my poor son. He died. A while ago,” she sad, a sad tone to her voice, though he felt as if there was more to this story, ”In a most unfortunate _accident_.”

“I see.”

“I can assure you, your reward will be generous, should you manage to find out if something unnatural is causing this trouble and rid us from this.”

“Very well,” he agreed with a sigh. 

There was no harm in checking her claim when she provided for his lodgings and it seemed a generous reward for an easy job, allowing him to save up money if he couldn’t find any other contracts in the next week. With luck, it was nothing but natural causes that would still fill his purse.

The first thing Geralt did once he finally freed himself from the suffocating atmosphere of the manor was to ask for directions to the graveyard. Whatever was causing this, chances were high he would find at least some hints there.

This was no ordinary monster for sure, that much he could tell already.

A curse perhaps.

It would explain why people died unexpectedly, though it would be tricky to find the source. Especially since people in this place seemed prone to superstition. It would be hard to tell the truth from whatever else they believed.

A young man sat near the graveyard, leaning against one of the many cherry trees, plucking a lute and singing a soft tune. It was alluring, comforting even and Geralt found himself stopping to listen. It seemed almost as if the voice was causing him to forget his purpose as if it became the reason he came here.

Leaning against a nearby fence Geralt simply stood and watched, mesmerized.

_No, this is not what you’re here for. Move._

But he played so well, his voice was so soft as he sang, the words dripping with an edge of pain.

_Move._

He couldn’t. It was like he was frozen in place by an invisible force. Forcing him to listen to the entire song.

Until the man stopped playing and looked up. Ocean blue eyes meeting his in a curious gaze.

Feeling able to move again he walked towards him, curious to learn who he was, and more importantly what he might know of this place. Once close enough he got a better look at his features.

There were those intriguing blue eyes, as deep and unforgiving as the ocean, framed by dark brown hair reaching his chin, which was covered in short stubble. Multiple cherry blossoms had fallen into his hair, white and red contrast beneath the brown strands. He wore simple clothes, an embroidered shirt, and dark breeches. There was nothing special about him. And yet Geralt was captivated by him.

How utterly strange.

“Who are you?” He asked, still trying to keep some distance as to not intimidate the young man.

A somewhat sad smile grazed his lips as he replied. “No one special.”

“That is not what I asked.”

He laughed, softly. “That is true. You may call me Jaskier if you wish.”

_Jaskier._

A pretty name. And one that seemed very fitting for the man sitting in front of him.

“I’ve told you my name, but I don’t know who you are and I don’t think that’s fair,” Jaskier said, his mouth twisting into an adorable almost pout.

“I’m Geralt.”

“I’m pleased to meet you Geralt. Though I’m curious, what does a witcher want in this place?”

“I was just passing through initially, but the Viscountess insisted to employ me to investigate some issues she’s been having.”

His expression changed for a second as he mentioned the viscountess before it returned back to normal as if nothing had ever happened.

“Interesting. I assume you accepted?”

“Contracts aren’t as easy to come by nowadays. Especially ones paid by a noble. At best there will be nothing wrong and I’ll still leave with a full purse.”

“Of course. That is reasonable. And if you find something you would help the village.”

“Exactly. I have been paid to investigate and I’ll do it until I discover something or don’t."

“Then you’ll stay awhile?”

“Yes, at the inn,” Geralt confirmed, before adding, “courtesy of the Viscountess.”

“Then I hope you’ll enjoy the hospitality,” Jaskier said before getting up. “I fear I have someplace else to be now, but I hope I’ll see you soon again.”

“If your someplace to be isn’t out of town I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

“No, I don’t really have somewhere else to be,” he laughed, softly. “I’m looking forward to our next meeting, Geralt.”

His conversation with Jaskier delayed his visit to the graveyard but it did not make much of a difference as he didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Obviously. It would have been great if he had found the solution to the strange occurring right away but he knew from experience that this was nothing but wishful thinking.

Geralt quickly found the graves of the recently dead villagers, standing out against the older ones. There was nothing unusual about them except for the fact that some of the people who died were too young to have died naturally. Then again, it could also be just an unlucky coincidence. As of now, his was not enough proof for foul play.

Interested in seeing the graves of the Viscountess’ family he made his way over to the fancy gravestones. The Viscount’s grave was old, stating that he died nearly a decade ago. It was undisturbed just as he had expected. The sons’ grave was fresher, only weeks if he had to guess. He had been young, barely twenty years old. A shame, he thought, feeling a punch of sadness for a young life ending in such a clumsy accident. Other than that there seemed nothing special about it. It seemed a bit messy but that could be very well just the freshness of it as he could neither smell nor sense something out of place.

Still, he wandered around the graveyard, examining it in detail before he returned to the inn as the sun set. It seemed like the Viscountess instructions had been delivered to it because a steaming hot bowl of stew awaited him with as much drink as he desired. Comfortably sated he went back to his room to discover the glass of wine near the window had been filled again. Shaking his head at the odd superstition he washed up and went to bed, trying to make sense out of everything he had learned.

The next day he went to see the families of the deceased. Without luck either, much to his dismay. They all told him variants of the same story. _We went to sleep like usual, the next morning the person was dead._ None of them suspected foul play or murder. Instead, they made sure to tell him how they had ensured to follow the appropriate burial rites, insisting that they had done everything right, from the proper dress, up to the stake they put through the deceased's hearts. _So they don’t return._

They had odd customs, Geralt thought as he wandered through the village. Though at least they combined it with proper burial rites. This was the first graveyard he had seen in quite a while that wasn’t swamped with monsters so if those weird beliefs ensured people made sure to dispose of their dead in a respectful way that did not attract swarms of creatures he would take it over any other village that did not.

The next day he met Jaskier at chance, spending the day with him instead. They sat below the blooming cherry trees, talking about everything and nothing as Geralt listed to Jaskier play the lute. It was relaxing and he found himself wishing this day would never end. It was a taste of a normal life he never got to experience.

It was almost a bit odd how comfortable Geralt felt around Jaskier, how easy it was to talk to him. Almost as if they had known each other for years instead of just a few days. And Geralt appreciated having someone to talk to in the village that wasn’t Roach. Because as much as he loves his horse, sometimes it was nice to have your conversation partner actually respond to you.

Time with Jaskier always passed quickly and he was almost sad when the evening came and they had to part again. The more they met up, the more he craved his company and for someone who’d been on the path alone for decades it was an odd feeling.

Another day he went back to the manor, frustrated that he didn’t find any proper hints yet. Just more superstitions and strange rituals. All hints told him that nothing was wrong and yet he couldn’t share the feeling that there was something hidden. He just couldn’t figure out _what_ it was was.

He needed to learn more of the Viscountess, of her family and what happened to them. Because as much as he asked around in the village, no one was ever able to tell him anything of value about their Lady. Though he doubted the woman herself would tell him anything he truly wanted to know, either. She had built a brick wall around herself and she knew exactly what to share and what to keep to herself.

It bothered him. Because he knew. And she knew that he knew, too. Perhaps it was even fun for her to parade him around and feed him with just enough information to continue on this wild goose chase at her amusement.

If it weren’t for Jaskier he would have left already. Leaving the village to deal with their mysterious natural deaths on their own. But he enjoyed the conversations with Jaskier too much and that’s why he kept entertaining this useless contract.

He found the Viscountess in the sitting room, wearing all black and looking at him with a disinterested gaze.

“Tell me about your family, Viscountess,” he demanded, done with pretending to follow noble courtesy.

“There is not much to tell, I fear.”

Another vague reply that made him grit his teeth. The slight smirk on her face proved she knew exactly what she’d been doing but there was no sense in getting rude

“Anything helps. After all, you want to get rid of what torments you and this village, don’t you?”

“It’s just old me. My husband died, many years ago.” she said and he nearly laughed because she was in her mid-forties at most. There was nothing old about her. In fact, she looked astoundingly young for her age. And yet she acted like she was a poor old woman.

“I’ve noticed he died young. Did anything bad happen to him? A violent death perhaps?”

“Just an accident while he was on a hunt. His horse threw him off and he broke his neck in the fall.”

If she tried to fake being very upset at it she didn’t do a good job. It was clear to him that she felt indifferent to her late husband at best.

As much as he wished it to be suspicious it probably wasn’t. Indifference about a spouse was so typical for noble marriages it wasn’t a surprise. And riding accidents happened just as often if the rider was not the best or the horse got spooked. There was no sense in poking into a decade-old incident.

“You mentioned a son. Another accident.”

“Yes, my poor boy Julian. He died some months ago, stumbling down the stairs. He was a terribly clumsy boy, always lost in his thoughts.”

Now, this was different. As much as this woman eluded coldness, she seemed sincerely sad about her son's death. Sill the way she spoke about him was weird. He had been a grown man, and yet she talked about him as if he was nothing but a child.

“And you are certain that he fell, that there was no one who pushed him,” he asked, pushing for more details. A fall down the stairs was definitely more suspicious than a horse riding accident.

“Yes I am,” she dismissed him instantly, seemingly angry at the implied accusation. “A servant was present and tried to help him as he tripped but he was too late.”

“I would like to speak to the man.”

“I’m afraid that is impossible.”  


“Why?”

“He died. One day he did not arrive to work on time and at my inquiry, I was told he’d died the previous night in his sleep.”

Now that did sound very suspiciously. How convenient that the only witness of the incident was one of the dead.

“And that didn’t cause suspicion in you?”

“Poor people die of many reasons. And if there was a sign of foul play or anyone harming him the villagers would have known and told me.”

Geralt disliked the way she talked about her servants, almost as if they were nothing but disposable tools to her.

“And you are certain that this man did not push your son down the stairs.”

“Absolutely. He was distraught at not being able to help him, wanted to quit in shame. I assured him he had no blame. If my son rushed down the stairs with his head in the clouds and missed a step it’s unfortunate but no one but himself is to blame for that.”

The sudden coldness of the Viscountess in regards to her son surprised him. He sensed the resentment she held against him, or perhaps rather against his behavior?

He excused himself, knowing he won’t get much else out of her. And truth be told he had no desire to be in her presence anymore. She made him angry with her refusal to cooperate with his investigation when she was the one who hired him, leaving him to wonder what she gained from this.

Instead of going back to the inn or someplace else he went to meet Jaskier, sitting at his usual spot near the cemetery, plucking his lute absentmindedly as he seemed lost in his thoughts. 

As soon as he noticed Geralt approaching though, he lit up with a smile, causing Geralt to smile back as he sat down next to him.

“It’s peaceful here, don’t you think Geralt?”

Strangely it was.

There was a lack of darkness that seemed to possess the rest of the village.

It was not what he expected, being so close to the graveyard. Not with his knowledge of what he would usually find there. Yet in Jaskier’s presence the usual darkness lurking over his life disappeared. Nothing but sunlight and a slight breeze moving through the blooming trees, causing the pretty blossoms to fall down and cover the grass remained.

Geralt almost wished he could stay forever, just so he could be with Jaskier. Or take him on the road as he left.

Nothing but foolish dreams. He knew he couldn’t get this. There was no happy ending for someone like him. The best he could do was to enjoy the happiness for as long as it lasted.

“I always wanted to be a bard, you know,” Jaskier sighed after a while of comfortable silence.

“Why don’t you become one? You’re still young.”

“Because as much as I want to leave this town, I can’t.”

There was something deeper behind those words, a defiant sadness. And as much as he wanted to know more, Geralt decided against pushing it. This was not an investigation and he did not want to open old wounds Jaskier might have when it came to his wish.

Many reasons could cause Jaskier to stay in this place instead of leaving. None of them were his business, not when he would leave soon regardless. Too soon.

There was not much time left for him to spend with Jaskier and he decided he would rather enjoy those few stolen moments. Pulling him closer he enjoyed the weight of his head against his chest as they rested in silence, savoring the peace for as long as they could.

It was as if they both knew their time together would soon run out because on each day they seemed more desperate to meet than before. Especially Jaskier couldn’t wait and all but jumped into Geralt’s arms as soon as he saw him approaching.

They kissed beneath the cherry tree, dying blossoms falling around them, covering them. They did not care, too lost in their own world. Here in this place, beneath these beautiful trees, nothing else mattered. They were alone, in their own private paradise, enjoying the closeness of their bodies as they shared hungry kisses until the sun set beneath the horizon and they had to separate.

His hunger grew. The need for intimacy with someone who did not see him as a monster. Jaskier saw him as he was. He saw Geralt who had the same needs as anyone else. And for the first time he felt seen as his partner willingly went to bed with him. He did not have to pay for it, nor did he recoil in disgust at seeing his scars. It was perfect.

Nearly too perfect to be true.

It was late the next day when he walked up to the manor after having spend quite some time with Jaskier. He figured that what he wanted to do would be best done at twilight than during daylight. Yet he shuddered as he approached it.

The manor was a dark place, especially after the sun had set. 

Not visually, though.

In fact, to anyone visiting it was perhaps the most gorgeous house they’d ever seen. White walls positively glowing in the last bit of sunlight. Such a stark contrast to the aura of darkness surrounding it.

Evil.

Rotten stench assaulting his senses. 

Whatever it was, it was tied to this house. Its core came from within it. And it grew stronger with every day. What was nothing but an odd feeling the first time has grown into putrid darkness slowly consuming this place.

The barely visible scratches on the door had turned into deep groves. It wanted to get into this house. Desperately. 

Even the overpowering smell of bitter wine and garlic did not seem to stop it. Not anymore. 

It had to be the Viscountess. He was sure she was the one causing it. No matter how much she tried to play the innocent victim. Something had happened here. And it was connected to the son. It had to be since everything seemed to have started after he died.

He just couldn’t figure out why or what had happened exactly. Because no one talked to him. Conveniently the servants that knew were dead, leaving only the Viscountess behind. Who refused to tell him the truth no matter how much he poked and prodded.

She was scared, that much he could tell. And yet apparently not scared enough to tell him more. He wondered if she killed his son. But she seemed too genuinely upset about it.

Or rather not upset but angry?

Yes, Geralt thought. Angry was the right word. It was almost as if she resented her son for dying. Which didn’t make any sense. Why would she even feel this way?

Perhaps Julian tried to run away? Perhaps that was the reason why he was in such a hurry? If he wanted to get away from he could have stumbled down the stairs.

That could be the what. But what was the why?

If it was true, then why would he even want to get away from his mother? 

For every theory he had, more and more questions popped up, confusing him to a point where he wondered why he even bothered.

As the door to the manor was opened he asked the servant girl to tell him where the son's room was. She pointed to the stairs which he ascended quickly. They were old and steep, creaking beneath his feet. And he could see someone stumbling to get down them in a hurry. Especially if that someone was rushing to get away as quickly as he got.

It might have been an accident. But perhaps what lead to it was the reason for all of it.

At the end of the hallway, the room was waiting for him to open the door and see what was inside it. 

The room was left untouched. Furniture and belongings laying around as if their owner would return any moment. It was clean, too. No dust was to be found on any surface, telling him that the servants were still ordered to clean this room.

He was just about to look through the belonging of the late son when a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.

“What are you doing in this room, Witcher?” The Viscountess demanded to know.

“Whatever is tormenting you, it has to be related to your son.”

“Impossible,” she denied it right away. “Julian is dead.”

“What did you do to your son, Viscountess?” He asked instead because he was certain that she had to be involved in some kind of way.

“Nothing!” She screamed. “I loved him. I loved that ungrateful boy more than he deserved.”

“Did you push him down the stairs?”

“Never! He is my child. I gave him everything and yet he tried to run away.”

“Then you must have done something to him, something that caused him to do this.”

“I did no such thing! That boy simply had no respect for his mother's love. Tell me Witcher, would a child that is loved by his mother try to run away? If she cares so much about it, loves it and gives everything to it?”

She was screaming, finally giving in to the rage she had been hiding for so long. All the resentment pouring out of her. And he had been right. She did not resent her son, she resented his choice of wanting to get away from her, of leaving her permanently by dying.

It was the horrible scraping against the walls that stopped them both in their tracks. Something wanted to get inside the house. Most likely whatever cursed thing that was left of her son.

And for the first time since her angry outburst, he saw the Viscountess flinch in fear. She was terrified and for good reason. Even though he was almost certain she deserved this terror. There was something she had done to her son, something she didn’t want to confess. But it was enough for him to run into his death to get away from her. It would also be enough to create whatever vengeful presence this was.

He opened the door, silver sword drawn as he wanted to finally see what has been tormenting the manor and village.

It was Jaskier, with scarily empty eyes and a sad smile on his face.

“Hello, Geralt. I’ve come to get mother.”

_My toast - a cup of blood - I'll raise  
_ _to drink that love pass silently,_  
_and then, alone, I'll make my song  
_ _of what I love, for what I long_

**Author's Note:**

> now, does Geralt fulfill his contract or not, you probably ask yourself and I leave that up to you dear reader. perhaps he does, but perhaps he doesn't, letting Jaskier do what he must do and allowing him to free himself from this place and become a bard.
> 
> I picked a few of those myths and mixed them together for the purpose of this fic.
>
>> Some of the more common causes of vampirism in Slavic folklore include being a magician or an immoral person; suffering an "unnatural" or untimely death such as suicide; excommunication; improper burial rituals; an animal jumping or a bird flying over the corpse or the empty grave (in Serbian folk belief); and even being born with a caul, teeth, or tail, or being conceived on certain days.
>> 
>> In South Slavic folklore, a vampire was believed to pass through several distinct stages in its development. The first 40 days were considered decisive for the making of a vampire; it started out as an invisible shadow and then gradually gained strength from the lifeblood of the living, forming a (typically invisible) jelly-like, boneless mass, and eventually building up a human-like body nearly identical to the one the person had had in life. This development allowed the creature to ultimately leave its grave and begin a new life as a human. The vampire, who was usually male, was also sexually active and could have children, either with his widow or a new wife. These could become vampires themselves, but could also have a special ability to see and kill vampires, allowing them to become vampire hunters.
>> 
>> The same talent was believed to be found in persons born on Saturday. In the Dalmatian region of Croatia, there is a female vampire called a Mora or Morana, who drinks the blood of men, and also the kuzlac/kozlak who are the recent-dead "who have not lived piously." They can be men or women who show themselves at crossroads, bridges, caves, and graveyards and frighten the locals by terrorizing their homes and drinking their blood. To be killed, a wooden stake must be thrust through them. In Croatia, Slovenia, the Czech Republic, and Slovakia, a type of vampire called pijavica, which literally translates to "leech", is used to describe a vampire who has led an evil and sinful life as a human and in turn, becomes a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. Incest, especially between mother and son, is one of the ways in which a pijavica can be created, and then it usually comes back to victimize its former family, who can only protect their homes by placing mashed garlic and wine at their windows and thresholds to keep it from entering. It can only be killed by fire while awake and by using the Rite of Exorcism if found in its grave during the day. In Bulgaria from the Middle Ages through to the beginning of the 20th century, it was a common practice to pin corpses through the heart with an iron stake to prevent their return as a vampire.
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